


Homie

by disingenue



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: ADHD Lexa, Alternate Universe - The 100 (TV) Fusion, Artist Clarke Griffin, Bisexual Clarke Griffin, Clexa, Commander Lexa (The 100), F/F, Lesbian Lexa (The 100), Neurodiversity, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Lexa (The 100), Shy Lexa (The 100), soft clexa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:00:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25604710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disingenue/pseuds/disingenue
Summary: Lexa rescues a pet at work. Clarke has to deal.A piece on self-care, and the human-animal bond.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin & Lexa, Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 11
Kudos: 172





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Northern_Insanity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northern_Insanity/gifts).



At 1711, Lexa excused herself outside for a smoke break. There were times where she would simply zone out, and realized, and the struggle of staying clear-headed would get to her. She had been through a war. She didn't quite feel sad for herself, just beleaguered at the idea that she had been given so much to process, and also that she needed to manage rest. She was eternally curious as to why it had to happen to her, and what she should do next with it.

It was times like these where she could only do what came naturally: Her perimeters. Gus always understood why she needed to patrol the exterior of the building to relax, even when she was on break. Lexa would go out and walk her line, and observe, picking out the things that most encouraged her: Two crows working together, using a stick to tease ants from a crack in the pavement. A drifter sitting cross-legged on the pavement, displaying a cardboard sign with a rallying motto. A cryptic message of encouragement scrawled upon a street lamp, or a doorway. Sometimes Lexa would withdraw her phone, and take a picture, even if she was nearly certain she would never be bothered to look at it again. She just took the picture for the simple sake of recording it, for later use, perhaps, which was why she did her job so well. 

Today, she spied a huddle of disheveled gray feathers in the parking lane. She grimaced for the raggedy-looking thing. It was an extremely thin pigeon, its neck pecked raw. It looked too small to be an adult; perhaps it was a baby pushed from the nest before it was quite unable to fend for itself and compete with older, stronger, more well-developed pigeons. It would be put swiftly out of its misery come rush hour, which was drawing close. There were no cameras on the sidewalk or the street. It was technically off the property. Lexa donned her nitrile gloves.

"Hey, homie," She greeted the bird, in the same low, gentle way she would disturb a squatter from their sleep. Intuitively, Lexa knew how to get close enough to the pigeon. She wondered what the bird must be thinking; probably that this would how it would end for him: a predator had spied him in his weakened state and was moving in for an easy meal. The bird hopped and trundled up against the curb, evading her clumsily. 

To demonstrate fascism to a crowd, Stalin once took a chicken and slowly stripped its feathers from its body. He set the bird on the ground, and scattered some feed for it. The bird ate the feed, and huddled, naked, at Stalin's feet. 

This pidgeon kept hopping away. Lexa supposed she liked that. Very quietly, she overtook the bird and scooped it up. "Shhh..." She cradled the bird inward. She was in her shirtsleeves. There was a heatwave rolling through the city. She could not conceal the bird in her blazer. He felt as dying birds often did in her hands; like a miniature chicken carcass. She felt the sharp breastbone; imagined the delicate skin beneath the plumage stretched taut across it. 

A businessman passed her. Their eyes met. He seemed to think it silly, her rescue of Homie. She couldn't really give a fuck. As discreetly as she could, and always avoiding the cameras, she circled to the front of the building. She knew what she was doing. 

"I have to run to my car," She announced quietly to Indra, who was watching the cameras. Indra didn't glance over, as Lexa furtively picked her blazer from the spare chair and tucked the bird into it. Bringing pidgeons into the building, she was well aware, was against the rules. She could get fired. If-- if they were found out. What on earth would Clarke say? _Think?_ Probably exactly that. Whatever. Lawyers did rails of blow in their office and that was definitely more illegal than what she was doing with Homie. Wordlessly, Lexa took the bundle of her blazer to the elevator. There were two lawyers now. 

She punched P6, and followed them casually into the elevator, assuming the corner. They talked about the hot paralegal as though Lexa wasn’t even there. Oh well. So long as they never, ever, ever spoke of Clarke that way, Lexa had larger concerns. Fouling in her freshly dry-cleaned blazer. The males got off at P3 as Lexa sent a text to Clarke.

_Lexa Woods @ 1714: Gotta use your car._

Lexa had been bestowed the spare keys to Clarke's car, in case Clarke ever were to lock herself out of it again. Sometimes, Lexa also used Clarke's car to nap, or meditate. They had in the back seat a spare crate outfitted with a towel and a spill-proof bowl of water, for when they took Titus hiking on their time off. A perfect setup, one might say. 

_Clarke Griffin @ 1714: K have a good relax, babe._

_Lexa Woods @ 1714: Yep._

She would, in a sense. The pigeon had, after all, been sent to relax her. He would relax in the crate, and hopefully drink some water from the bowl. Lexa imagined the heat wave had left the bird severely dehydrated. She had found him near no source of water, and she had seen pidgeons struggle to drink puddle water as she smoked. The smart ones knew a trick of dunking a piece of bread into the puddle, then gobbling the soggy mixture down to hydrate themselves. 

Reaching the car, Lexa unlocked it, opening the crate in the back and carefully transferring Homie into his quarantine facility. If Lexa could be certain of anything (and Homie was far from the first bird she had rescued-- He was not even the first bird she had risked her job for) it was that Homie most likely had worms, or parasites. She would have to be diligent. 

Satisfied for the moment, Lexa shut the door to the cage, then opened the front driver door and went clambering about the seats until she found what she sought: A forgotten box of donut holes Clarke had bought, undoubtedly with the intent of ingratiating herself to her coworkers. Perfect. Choosing an old-fashioned plain, Lexa brought it back to the crate and cracked the door to the crate open once more. She dunked the donut into the bowl of water and left it to soak. Good enough for now.


	2. Phone Anxiety

Clarke was on the home stretch of the shading on Ratchet Flack's pant leg when her office phone rang. It was Niylah. Sighing, she put the pen down and picked up. She really just needed to finish this piece off, so that they would have something to show to Desmond by tomorrow afternoon. 

"Hey there," She answered. 

"Oh, Hi! Clarke? I have a transfer from security. It's Lexa, asking for you, but she sounded... Angry? I don't know. Anyways, I'm going to put her through to you... Just giving you a heads up."

Even in spite of herself, Clarke was smiling as she massaged her temple. Sometimes, Lexa's reasoning would fail her on how to approach Clarke, and when it did, the fallback was always to be professional about it. It was also true that the guard naturally sounded slightly angry, or sarcastic, to people that were not Clarke. Niylah had openly admitted to being intimidated by the woman. 

"Just put her through," Clarke said gently. 

"Okay."

"Clarke. I just wanted to call because I would like to escort you to your car when you leave," Said Lexa's voice, cutting straight to the chase. 

Clarke frowned, puzzled. "Oookay," She began slowly. "Is there any, like, reason for that?"

"None of importance," Lexa assured her. 

This wasn't reassuring because while Lexa never lied to her, the two had their own ideas on what constituted 'important'. Clarke's mind raced anxiously for the solution. 

"Did someone break into my car or something?" She had to quickly ask.

"No."

"Did someone back into it or anything like that?"

"Clarke. Be calm. Nothing happened to your car."

"Okay..."

"Just trust me, Clarke. I would like to escort you to your car. Nothing more. I'll let you get back to work." 

The guard hung up, leaving Clarke sagging into her chair frustratedly. Today would definitely be a day she left work right at five o'clock because there was no way she was getting through the remaining hour and a half without wasting time, agonizing over Lexa's cryptic choice in words. Oh well. She tried to busy herself with some light cleaning up of her office and responding to emails, killing time until she saw everyone else beginning to leave the office.


	3. Precious Cargo

When Clarke exited the elevator, Lexa was ready with Gus to replace her at the concierge desk. She stood stoically, dressed down to her shirtsleeves and backpack, with her hands in her pockets. Perhaps, she was sheepish.

"Clarke," she greeted the blonde awkwardly. "Are you ready to go to your car?"

Clarke blinked, a brow quirking. She was slowly getting used to Lexa's peculiarities. She just wanted to know that nothing was wrong with her car, and she accepted that the only way to verify this would be to allow Lexa the escort. Their ride down to P6 was silent. Lexa offered nothing about her day so far at work. The procession to Clarke's car was equally silent. The guard seemed almost meditative. When Clarke had scrounged through her purse at the side of the car and come up with her keys, Lexa chose to inform Clarke of the situation.

"There's a bird in your car."

" _What?_ " Clarke peered into her car disbelievingly and when she saw a rustle in Titus' kennel, her shriek echoed loudly throughout the concrete structure of the parkade. " _Lexa! What the hell?!_ " She exclaimed. Lexa ducked her head defensively.

"Clarke. Listen."

" _\--Listen to you explain why there's a bird in my car?!_ "

"Just listen."

" _I'm listening hard! For you to give me a damn good reason!_ "

"There is one."

"What is it, Lexa?!"

"Be calm."

Clarke got a hold on herself, a little. "I can't; not until you tell me what the _hell_ is going on, Lex!" She said in a quieter voice. Lexa drew a breath, composing herself.

"He was dying. He still might. But I know how to save him. I am good at rescuing birds."

Clarke rubbed her face as things sunk in. "Well, he looks rescued enough to me, can we put him outside again now?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"He's too weak. and the heatwave."

Clarke sighed, calming herself further. "Okay, so... you want me to take him back to your place? Or what?"

"His name is Homie, but that name isn't gender specific."

The blonde blew out a sigh as she ran a hand through her hair. "Okay," she said, accepting. She had no choice; Lexa had named the animal. "So should I take him to your place and put him on the balcony? Or inside? What about Titus, won't he try to make chicken wings out of him?"

"We have to decide that when we get there," Lexa knew. "Oddly enough, Titus never goes for birds. Only squirrels."

"Okay," Clarke agreed, slightly anxiously. Titus still worried her, a bit. Then, she thought of an idea. "Is there, like, any wildlife rescues we could leave him with?"

Lexa sighed, shrugging a shoulder. "For starters, he's not wild. Secondly, rescues don't give a fuck about pigeons. They just can't."

"Okay..." Clarke unlocked her car, opening the rear door to throw her purse in beside the kennel. She was hit by an unpleasant aroma that could only be bird shit. "Ew!"

"He can't help it," Lexa defended. "He's sick and dehydrated." Clarke open the driver door and lapsed defeatedly into the driver's seat. "And he probably has worms."

"Oh, Lexa. Just get in."


	4. Themyscira

"May I deejay," Lexa asked, subtle anxiety in her voice. Clarke hoped it was concern for her, but it could just as well be for the welfare of the pigeon housed in the back seat of her car. The blonde liked to think that Lexa cared for them at least equally in this moment. And also, that Lexa cared for the interior of her car. She had just gotten it detailed.

"You want your Biggie?" Clarke responded as she steered them around the central column of the parkade. This earned her a shake of Lexa's head. The brunette scrolled as Clarke focused on not clipping her bumper on one of the concrete pillars. Made that mistake once. Lexa scrolled until satisfied, setting her phone on the mount. Gentle strains of Bach, played on a classical guitar, filled the cab. Clarke recognized it as Andres Segovia. Her dad had loved Segovia. She looked inquiringly to Lexa, who she understood to be strictly all about rap.

"To relax me, there needs to be words. Hence the rap. I keep the Segovia for Titus."

Fair enough. The poor pigeon rustled around in the backseat as they exited the parkade into the light of the sunset. Lexa twisted, grabbing a towel and throwing it over the cage.

"So, what's the plan, here?" Clarke wanted to know. "You've got yourself a new pet, or something?"

"I'll let him go," Lexa said. "He will come back if my place is his home."

"Alright, birdman," Clarke laughed gently.

"I'll punch you the thuck out if you toush my pigeon," Lexa lisped, impersonating Mike Tyson rather poorly. It was enough to make Clarke giggle geniuinely.

"I'll ban you from my car, and the pidgeon, too."

"His name is Homie, Clark-- _Their_ name is Homie." It was hilarious to watch Lexa struggle over pronouns, when it came to birds. With people, Lexa would always commit the pronoun to memory, even if she couldn't recall the person's name.

"I like that you went with a less gendered name than Mike," Clarke chuckled. Lexa jabbed her with a finger.

"Mike is philosophical. There might be more than one of Mike," Lexa reminded her. "Anyways." Lexa usually strove to keep the topics light while in the car. The two were well capable of driving themselves to the distraction of all else when they began to play around and joke. "Were you surprised that I would keep a bird?"

"In my car, Lexa? That's a _'yes'_."

Lexa ducked her head apologetically, but she was smiling. "People make a big deal of it, that I have pet birds at work," she noted. "Security people get it, back-of-house people get it, ex-con people get it, homeless people get it... And everyone else looks at me like I'm from Mars, or something..."

"Where do you think you’re from?" Clarke asked.

Lexa was silent for a long time; _scrolling... scrolling..._ at last one shoulder lifted noncommittally.

“Themyscira.”

Clarke was erupting. Into laughter.

“What? _What?!_ I’ll contend to you, Clarke. That island was all just lesbian warriors!”

“Okay, Lex, just let me get through this traffic.”

“Okay.”


End file.
